Rebellion
by TheAlmightySun
Summary: What they wanted, was freedom. They would get it by killing the one man standing between them and their liberty: Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot.  To do so, they would have to take down his army. And for that, they needed power. Magical power. Emrys's.
1. Chapter 1

**I've run into some time, and decided to start a new story. So here you have it: the very first chapter of Rebellion! I know this chapter's short but as far as I'm concerned, the next to come will be much longer. So read it, tell me if you like it, and, you know. Ahem. Review!**

_**Rebellion**_

_Chapter one:_

It all started when Percival yawned.

It was late at night, and the moon was already starting to set, lowering into the treetops. He had spent all day riding after Arthur in the forest, hunting for the slippery wolves, and had just been woken up by Gwaine to take the last watch mere minutes ago. You could not very well blame him.

And yet, if he hadn't, things would not have occurred as they had.

This yawn would be sung about in the centuries to come. It was a large, long, jaw stretching thing; noisy, forcing the knight to lean back as he fought against it, shutting his eyes helplessly.

How odd, that such is the beginning of the end of it all.

Had Percival kept his eyes open and alert, he would have seen the bandits before they were upon him.

Had he seen them, he would have warned the others before they were gagged and threatened by sharp arrows.

Had they been warned, the knights would have not been quite so helpless against the ambush, and they would not have been forced to watch their friend being taken away, his wounds bleeding.

But more on that later.

Our story starts at two different locations, and Sir Percival's jaw is only one of them. The second, which occurred many moons before the first, is at an overcrowded tavern at the far side of the kingdom, where a young girl and an old man sat across from each other, drinks clasped in their hands, and spoke.

This secret meeting would also be spoken of for years to come.

The girl was named Lotea. She was the youngest of seven children, born into the Village of Balkins, of the North, to parents who perhaps were not secretive enough about their magical abilities. Of her large, loud family she was the only one who remained when the Knights of Camelot burned their home down. She was also the only one of her siblings to have been gifted with magic.

Now, looking around at the strangers sitting around her- vile men with alcoholic breathe and women wearing not much more then undergarments, Lotea sat upright, tense and apprehensive. Her eyes, once a dazzling green, were now an incriminating gold. Her hair, once flowing, golden and soft to the touch, was white. These were her scars. Magical scars, left over from her futile battle to save her family, her brothers and sisters, her poor, sweet mother whose hands always smelled of herbs and potions. But to no avail. They were all dead that sunrise.

But she wasn't.

The man who sat before her was called by others simply as: the Wizard. This was why she had come to seek him. He was said to be the most powerful sorcerer of the realm. A man who dares use such a title under King Uther's rein was someone with whom she most certainly wanted to speak.

He was not what she had expected. An old man, a _tired_ man, with thinning grey hair and dull brown eyes that have long since lost their spark. He wore rugs, not worthy of a peasant, and his lined face was somber as he avoided her gaze. He sipped slowly from his drink, and his bones cricked as he moved. His voice was hollow and broken when he spoke. As if it was tired of being used.

"I've heard much of you, Lotea of Balkins," He said, after a long stretch of silence.

"As have I, of you," She replied, now thinking about her name passing through his old, wrinkly lips. Balkins. Could she use the name of her home anymore, now that it no longer exited? "Many things. Great things."

He placed his drink on the crocked table, slowly, taking care to push it far away from the edge. He traced the top gently with a long, aged finger. She waited for him to speak, but he did not.

"I have come to the knowledge that you are a sorcerer," She said then, keeping her voice low, gazing at him for a reaction. He had none. "That you are a leader of a large group of sorcerers, in the valley by the sea."

There was silence. She strained from saying more.

Finally he raised his eyes to her, and she gasped as a flash of color passed through them. Not gold, like her own eyes would turn if she used her abilities, but silver.

"This might be true," He said slowly, dropping his hand in his lap, and gazing at her steadily. "Or perhaps it is not."

"But if it is," She played along, getting more excited. "Is it also true that your people have recently had to abandon this valley, in favor of the treacherous mountains, because of an attack by Uther's army?"

"The King's Knights," He corrected, and spoke no more.

"Because if this is true," She continued, regardless, "If _it is_ true- then I have a proposition for you and for your people."

"And what is this proposition?"

She looked around carefully. There were no listening ears lurking about. She continued in a whisper, leaning forward so that he may hear.

"Just mere months ago, the city of Camelot had fallen in the hands of a powerful sorceress," She said, and he made no comment. "She brought the king to his knees and took charge of the peasants. By pure accident she was brought down from power, but the ramifications of that time are lingering on."

She glanced around again. They were far away from the city, and the sea was just a few minutes' horse ride away, and yet: Uther's men could be anywhere. "They say that the king has lost his mind. They say that this is the reason why the attacks on wizards have commenced so powerfully. It is rumored that he gone insane with grief over his daughter, and that the only thing occupying his time anymore, is destroying magic."

The Wizard kept his eyes intent on hers. His face was passive.

"His son should be taking over the throne," She continued. "It is the right thing for the kingdom. Yet the Prince, it is whispered, can't allow himself to take it from his father, and the mad king is not ready to relinquish it. The Council of Elders in the city sides with the king, as they always had. While the politics are raging the people of Camelot have grown poor and weak under a disorganized army and a dysfunctional king. They're hungry and dispirited, as are the knights. And our people are dying."

"By our people," He cut in suddenly, "I assume you mean, sorcerers, as you and I."

"Yes. _Our_ people."

"'_Our'_ people have been dying for over twenty years."

She nodded, feeling the familiar clenching of her heart. "Yes. But not since the purge had so many attacks been made on our brethren. As Uther grows further and further away from sanity, his desperation to end magic conquers his mind. It will not be long until he succeeds."

There was silence. A fight broke out at the bar, between two poor men, over the remnants of a bottle of liquor. Lotea gazed at the old man, biting her lips.

"I know all this," He said. "But what is it that you are proposing?"

"There has never been a time when Camelot was more vulnerable," She said, and her voice grew quiet as her heart beat faster. "Lacking strong leadership, ill with the harsh winter, with the army still shaky after the last time it had been conquered. And there has never been a time when sorcerers were more eager to… fight."

"Fight?" He repeated, slowly, though he did not sound surprised. "Have you found men eager to… fight?"

"I have," She nodded. "Many. Sixty men and women, all wishing the king's downfall. He has a lot of things to pay for, and his life will be just the beginning." She felt herself sitting straighter in her chair. Her voice grew lower, her eyes narrowed. This was her point. This was why she had come here, to this sad bar in the middle of nowhere.

The man kept looking at her, as if searching for something.

"Sixty men and women cannot take down the king's army, no matter how vengeful they are," He said.

"No," she agreed. "Certainly not. But you are said to have thirty more."

He sat back in his chair, not taking his eerily silver eyes away from hers.

"I see," He said.

There was silence. The two men were forced away from the tavern, and left many irritated murmurs behind them. She heard the barman pour something into a large glass.

"You're building an army," he said finally, and she blushed.

"Yes."

"I have thirty four men and twenty eight women," He said. "They are not all powerful, and they are not all of age. In fact, many of them have small children. They are not an army. They are a village of homeless people looking for peace and quiet in the hills."

"They would follow you if you joined me."

"They would. But why would I? I am content where I stand. And your army will be beaten and shot down before it arrives at the Gates of Camelot."

She felt her chicks flushing with anger. His voice was steady and curious, and she knew he spoke the truth.

"I am not finished," She said, and he raised his eyebrows at her.

"You are not the only one I have come to with this proposal, Wizard. There are others. Druids, of which there are hundreds. Young sorcerers in hiding in the villages, at the large cities. I have managed to convince some of them, but I haven't had the chance to speak to many. And-"

"The Druids?" he cut her off, and his voice was almost disappointed, like a teacher or a parent, as if he had expected more of her. "They are a peaceful folk. If you have spoken to their leaders, you would know that they will not battle against the king."

"They would if Emrys led the way."

For the first time, the man seemed surprised.

"You know of Emrys?"

"Of course," She replied, smiling. Much better. "The wizard of prophesy, who would be the most powerful to ever have lived or ever live again. And if the druids are to be trusted, which I think, that in matters of prophesy- they are," she stopped, and the man was frowning at her, brows creased- "then he is very much alive today, and lives inside the walls of Camelot."

The old man pulled his drink to him, and sipped slowly.

"I knew this," he said. "I also know that Emrys's identity is kept under strictest confidence. No one but the most powerful of the druid leaders knows who he is."

"I know," She said.

He gazed at her.

"And what is your plan?"

"I would have him join us," She said. "And the druids, with their mass numbers, will follow. We will gather forces from the villages, train, prepare, plan- with the help of Emyrs, who knows all there is to know of Camelot- we will conquer the city and bring down the Pendragon house, once and for all."

They sat there for a moment, as he thought.

"And say that I agree to this," He said, slowly. "If only for the sake of keeping my eye on you on your vengeful young spirit. What would you do if Merlin of Ealdor refuses?"

She opened her mouth to replay, when a woman, stepped in to the light from where she had been sitting, motionless, in the shadows, listening to their conversation. She pulled a beautiful a scarf away from her stunning face.

They both knew her name. After she had tried to take over Camelot, every sorcerer knew it.

Morgana placed her slender arm on Lotea's shoulder in a sisterly sort of way. She gazed at the Wizard confidently, and smiled.

"She doesn't need Merlin of Ealdor," She said, and her long fingernails caressed Lotea's arm. "All she needs, is Emrys."

**Second fanfic! YAY!**

**Should I continue? Yes? No? Maybe? Can you guess which friend was taken and who sent the bandits?**

**?**

**Please please please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! Thank you to all of those who reviewed! You're all so brilliant!**

**I'm not very good with Author Notes, so I won't waste your time with nonsense... I really hope you like the story and that it both meets your expectations and surprises you. I don't know about you, but surprises are my favorite part...**

**On with the story!**

**Chapter two:**

"You all realize that this is not wolf season, right?"

Arthur sighed as Merlin's voice drifted over to him from the back of the line. Again.

He could practically hear the others exchanging amused looks behind him. They have been knights for less than two months, and already had grown quite fond of his and Merlin's strange quarrels. Too fond, some might say. Actually, Arthur was quite convinced Sir Gwaine was behind a large portion of said 'quarrels'. Or _Tidbits of Entertainment_, as he called them.

"If it _were_ wolf season, Merlin, this hunt would not have been interesting." Arthur replied, not looking back at his servant, who was likely giving the rest of them meaningful looks all the while.

"I've gotta say, sire, that your definition of interesting is in itself rather interesting."

Arthur heard Gwaine let loose a bark of laughter, and glared at him threateningly.

"Well, Arthur, the man's got a point," the knight said, grinning back. He rode on Arthur's left side on a beautiful brown mare, his long hair loose around his shoulders. "We've passed half a dozen deer on the way here. We could have-"

"We could have bought meet in the market, also," Arthur replied, annoyed. Lancelot, ono his right, hid a smile. "I could have even _sent_ someone to get it. We could have stayed all day in bed and been spoon-fed well-bred bacon by beautiful women. But that, Sir Gwaine, would _not_ have been interesting." He glanced back at Merlin, who returned his glare with a smirk. "And my definition of interesting is _fine_."

"Sure is, sire."

More chuckles. This was what Arthur both loved and hated about going on patrols, hunting trips, missions, or quests with his four newest knights. They weren't half as disciplined as knights should be, and often let their mouths run loose. And yet, they were also a lot more… Well. Interesting.

They had been riding since yesterday's sunrise, and had stopped just once, for the night. Arthur wanted to find the fabled White Wolf, which had been sighted scarce times in this forest in the past four or five months. He was not certain what he would do when they had caught it. The fur would undoubtedly be a fair trophy for such a catch, and yet, he felt somehow reluctant to kill such a rare and beautiful creature. Perhaps even wolves could be trained, as dogs were. Stranger things have happened.

The forest at this time of day was beautiful, and Arthur felt that he knew every inch of it. Here he was at his element. Here, he was not the disappointing heir to the throne, who could not bring his father satisfaction by destroying sorcery, and could not give his people satisfaction by getting them food. Here, with his knights, he could be who he was. No pretenses or angry peasants glaring his way. No father who's body and mind where so far away from each other, it seemed like they've never been connected at all. Just he, four mischievous knights, and Merlin.

He knew that the time was nearing when he would have to take the throne. But not now. Not yet. Not while his father still breathed and spoke and functioned- despite the fact that nowadays, since finding out Morgana's true colors, all his functioning was centered around hunting sorcerers, and little else. Because God forbid he blamed the woman who overthrew him, took over his kingdom, and ordered her army of dead to shot live fire at innocent peasants in order to try and force his knights to join her. It was magic's fault. No daughter of _his_ could ever be so evil.

Arthur did not want to think about it. Morgana. His sister.

"Where is it that we're headed, exactly?" Merlin mused, loudly. Arthur glanced back, secretly grateful for the interruption of his unhappy thoughts. For once he didn't mind Merlin's irritating inability to stand silence.

"We are headed north," he replied.

"Yeah, I got that," Merlin said. "anything more specific, maybe? For example: 'in a direction that's not Camelot's' ? "

"You are a very clever and wise manservant, Merlin. Maybe when we get back I'll reward you for your wisdom by sticking your head in the gallows for a couple days."

More chuckled. Arthur glanced back, rather pleased with himself. Merlin was eyeing him playfully.

"You know what we should do?" Gwaine said suddenly, cutting short whatever reply Merlin might have been planning. "We should head over to that town. What's it called. They've got one hell of a-"

"If you say bar, I might just shove a spear through your armour," Elyan muttered, and they all laughed.

"Didn't say that, mate," Gwaine replied, not missing a beat. "Actually, I think _you_ did. And now that you had I will add that they've got more than just beer in those places…"

"As much as I'd like to make a bastard," Arthur said, still thinking of Morgana, "I'd much rather you lot be quiet so we might have at least a glimmer of hope at ever finding this wolf."

"I don't think we had such a glimmer when we set out, my prince," Lancelot said, and the others snickered. Arthur allowed his mouth to curve into a smile. Yes. He did like these strange, unprofessional patrols.

"I say we go to this tavern," Lancelot continued. "Get a few drinks. Have a few laughs."

"We all like laughing," Gwaine agreed, and laughed his barking laugh once more.

"Well demonstrated, " Percival said.

"Why, thank you."

"No offence, Gwaine, but I'm keeping you as far away from alcohol as the law allows me," Arthur said, his back to the freshly knighted drunken idiot.

"You are the law, my prince." Elyan reminded.

Arthur feigned surprise. "Why," He said. "Indeed I am."

Gwaine grumbled good-naturedly as the others teased him lightly. He then proceeded to enfold another of his drunken stories- of which he seemed to have an unending supply. (This one seemed to concern a beautiful barmaid, her husband, and an owl attack somewhere beyond the mountains. Arthur was entirelly sure that he believed none of it.)

And so it was for the next few hours. They did not find the White Wolf, nor any animal, for that matter, what with the noise they were making. And yet, somehow, that night, as he lay down in his sleeping bag after his watch, with Merlin on his left and Percival on his right, Arthur thought that this was one of the better days he's had in months.

He had a strange dream that night.

Arthur was not of the dreaming type. Or at least, he never remembered any of his dreams. This was why this particular vision was later etched forever into his memory.

He didn't really remember the beginning. He recalled seeing the White Wolf, large and magnificent, standing at a high hill, howling majestically at the moon, and following it. He was dressed in night cloths, and his feet were bare. Yet he ran toward it, never fearing that it would run away.

And it did not. Arthur arrived at its side, and watched as the large creature lifted its eyes, bright and golden, to meet his. It wagged its tail, like the dogs in the castle courtyard often did when they were happy to see their masters. Arthur reached his hand toward it, and it leaked him affectionately.

Suddenly, the hill was full of howls. Arthur looked up in wonder and saw hundreds and thousands of white wolves, sitting gallantly at hills of their own, singing to the moon.

There was a stroke of lightning, and suddenly he was in his armor and a sword was at his side, dripping blood.

The wolf lay at his feet, whimpering. It's fur was no longer the white mane it was moments ago. Blood had colored it crimson.

When Arthur looked up, he saw that all the rest of them had vanished into darkness, one by one. Until finally, his White Wolf disappeared into shadows, and Arthur remained alone in the dark silence, the only noise being the blood as it splashed at the ground, dripping off his sword.

"Waky waky, sleeping beauty," a gruff voice singsonged over his head. Arthur blinked his eyes open, a taunting reply already at his lips, when his eyes focused on the point of a very sharp, very angry looking arrow mere inches away from his left eye.

"It's about bloody time," The voice said, and Arthur's eyes flickered to the tall, dark figure looming over him. He was a large man, with ape like arms enveloped by lawyers or thick, well trained muscles, and a crocked grin disfigured by a dreadful scar showing off a series of golden teeth. He held a massive bow at ready, the arrow strong and steady as it rested on the tightened string.

Arthur glanced around, feeling his stomach go hollow. The rest of the knights were in much the same position as he, half out of their sleeping bags with strung bows pointing at their skulls. He met Merlin's eyes, and the latter gave him an apprehensive yet slightly amused look. A group of bandits, thinking they could steal from the crown prince?

Arthur glanced back at his captor. The man seemed to be the leader of the group. He wore a long black robe and a sword was attached to his side, glistening in the rays of the rising sun. He had a gleeful sort of sparkle in his eyes. Arthur imagine that sparkle vanishing, replaced with one of fear, as his own sword swept over the man's face when they've managed to get out of this.

He wasn't particularly worried. They were five knights against maybe eight bandits. Very good odds. What was it Merlin wanted yesterday? _Interesting_?

"How can I help you?" He asked the man pinning him down, pleasantly. Behind him, Gwaine made a grunt to hide his laughter. The man seemed to catch this, and glanced at his follows with his own smirk.

"Are you Prince Arthur, heir to the Pendragon throne?" he asked, also pleasantly.

"That's me," Arthur replied. "and you?"

"Ragen," The man said, his arrow still steady. "But a lot of other names as well."

"I'm certain. The thieving trade is full of them."

"Indeed it is, sire."

"And what is it, pray tell, that you want from a hunting party this early in the morning?" Arthur asked, still using his happy tones. "For I'd very much like to go back to sleep."

"Oh, nothing much," The man said. "We'll just take what we came for and be gone."

"Very good. And we'll just chase you."

"I would have expected nothing less."

"Excellent. And what is it that you've come for?"

Ragen glanced up, looking at each of the knights in turn.

"Very easy to tell who here is a knight and who's a servant," He mused. Arthur's smile faltered. What? "Now, am I correct in assuming that you," He addressed Merlin, who blinked his surprise, "are Merlin of Ealdor?"

Merlin glanced at Arthur uncertainly, and then nodded. "Yes," He said. "Why?"

"No reason in particular," Ragen said. "I've just been offered a hefty price for you, is all." Arthur looked over at Merlin, who's eyes narrowed in confusion. Giving him an encouraging look, Arthur met Lancelot's eyes, and then the others'. They nodded. Ragen turned back to him, oblivious. "Don't worry, my prince. We'll just take him and go."

"Oh, very good," Arthur said. He smiled at Ragen, now less pleasantly. "I hoped you'd say something like that."

In a swift motion he was out of the sleeping bug, sword in hand. So were the rest around him.

"Thank God," He heard Gwaine mutter. "I thought that gibbergabber will never end."

He raised his sword, and brought it down powerfully against his captor. All the bandits were masked, apart from Ragen, with hoods and scarves hiding away their features. But it was obvious that whoever's had his arrow touching Gwaine's cheek was young, what with his small stature and unsteady hands. Whoever it was blocked the larger man with difficulty. Gwaine flashed him a smile.

The bandits did not seem to expect this sudden turn of events. Around him Arthur saw Percival run his weapon into the man before him, who managed to dodge it but lost his footing, regaining them only after the knight managed another strike. Arthur brought his own sword to a defense position as Ragen pulled out his blade and, looking, somehow, still rather pleased with himself, began attacking.

Soon sounds of swords clashing one against the other and man panting and swearing filled the silent forest. Arthur blocked, attacked, and blocked again, fighting both Ragen and the man who had had his arrow pointed at Merlin's temple.

"You're quite good," He told Ragen as the man forced him back two steps.

"I've been told," The man said, and brought his weapon down powerfully. Arthur blocked, shocked at the strength. Ragen was a large man, but he wasn't that large. He regained his footing immediately, right in time to block the other man's knife as it came toward him from behind. He heard Ragen's blade cutting through the air above his head, and whirled to face him, already flinching away from the knife, when someone else stepped between the two.

"More interesting, Merlin?" He asked, as his servant groaned under Ragen's weight.

"Much, thanks," He managed, and Ragen backed away, eyeing Merlin with an assessing look. Arthur wondered where Merlin's gotten the sword he now held unfamiliarly between his fingers. Maybe Lancelot passed him one of his. The man always insisted on bringing two for some reason. Arthur dodged another of Ragen's strokes while Merlin jumped away from the other man's cut. Arthur had began to suspect that Lancelot did this for this very sort of situation, when Merlin might be proven useful in distracting extra enemies while the knights were busy battling the rest.

But something was wrong. Both Elyan and Lancelot were fighting two man at a time, and Percival and Gwaine were surrounded by three others, their swords moving blindingly fast against the blades of the bandits. They couldn't get a slice through. It was as if these man weren't just some everyday bandits looking for gold. They were trained soldiers.

A tickle of suspicion entered Arthu's mind. The shocking strengh. The fact that they surprised five Knights of Camelot who were keeping watch. The fact that none of the other's strokes seemed to be landing.

Or maybe they were just lucky.

"Yes!" Elyan called, as one of the bandits fell face forward before him, a long line of blood showing through his dark shirt. Arthur glanced at him, as did Ragen. It was the young one, who had held Gwaine before.

When he turned back to Ragen, his face was no longer smiling. He let loose a hiss of anger, and attacked the prince with renewed ferocity. This was not going like the man had planned. "Jera!" He called at the man who was trying to get through Merlin's surprisingly sufficient blocks. "Get him!"

The man quit his attack immediately, and rushed over to the side of the younger boy, forgotten on the ground as the battle raged on. Merlin looked as if he were about to chase him, but then seemed to reconsider, and went ahead to assist the others as they were pulled back by the other bandits. Jera fell to his knees next to the boy, who was shaking now, and pulled his hood away from his face, and Arthur was stunned to realize that she, Jera, was a woman.

He regretted his momentary lack of focus as Ragen's sword cut through his defenses. He dodged quickly, but not without crying out when the blade left a sharp cut over his left shoulder.

Arthur swore, and Ragen persisted, never fazed. The man who had played with them gleefully a few minutes ago was gone. Looking at him, Arthur realized that he was almost… frightened.

"Lor!" The woman called, and Ragen turned his head toward her, his eyes flashing with concern. She said no more, but the paleness in her face was enough. Ragen- or Lor, as she called him- lifted his sword for one last block, pushing the prince back powerfully.

"Enough of this!" he said, and his eyes flashed silver. Arthur, midway through a counterstrike, felt himself slowing, until finally his entire body froze, incapable of movement.

_Magic,_ he thought immediately. He wanted to look around at the other knights, but all he could see without moving his head were Elyan and Lancelot, who both seemed to have frozen, as well. Another one of Ragen's man rushed over to the young, wounded boy, checking him for a pulse and paling as well when the boy shook painfully on the grass.

"You're sorcerers," Arthur said, looking straight at Ragen. The man didn't look at him. He was gazing at the boy and the two hovering above him, concern etched on his face.

"How is he, Borg?" He demanded, and the other man, Borg, raised his head to give him a pale nod.

"He needs treatment. The witch said she's got good remedies."

"Bandage him," Ragen said, and Borg nodded, helping Jera pull off the younger boy's bloodied shirt.

Ragen turned his gaze back to Arthur. His eyes were furious. Clearly he did not expect this little game with the knights to cost one of his people.

"Tie them up," He spat, and the rest of the men did so, easily moving the knights' handsand feet. Ragen looked on as their arms were secured behind their backs and their legs bound together.

"What witch were you talking about?" Arthur demanded, trying to fight against the curse keeping him still. "Who are you? What do you want with Merlin?"

"I'd keep my mouth shut if I were you," One of the men said, the one who was tying him, and Arthur felt pain as he tightened the ropes fiercely around his wrists.

There was one up side to being tied up. He could now see all of the knights as they were forced to the ground next to each other. "Are you all sorcerers?" Arthur continued, ignoring the man tying him. "If you do not release us of this spell, y-"

"We're not sorcerers," Ragen said, cutting him short. He was looking at Merlin, who returned his gaze with an angry glare. "We've simply… borrowed some magic for a few days."

"What?" Merlin demanded. Arthur could hardly see him from where he was crouched, but his voice was more angry then he'd ever heard it. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you worry about it," Ragen said, and motioned to the man that was holding Merlin purposely. The spell on the servant seemed to break, and he stumbled as the larger man forced him to his feet, bringing him to the middle of the once camp. Arthur noted his ruffed cloths and the way he favored his right knee. Merlin could hardly get through breakfast without hurting himself, never mind a sword fight with weapons he was never trained to use.

Ragen was looking at him, assessing once again. "Don't know why everyone's so interested in you," He said, leaning lower toward Merlin, who's hands flexed instinctively behind his back. "You don't seem all that threatening to me." Merlin returned his gaze defiantly. Ragen's eyes narrowed.

It happened very quickly. One moment Ragen's long, heavy scabbard was held loosely in his large hand, and the next Merlin was on the floor, a stunned expression on his face as blood began to drizzle from a wound where the scabbard connected with his head.

"Hey!" Lancelot called, and the others made similar protests, their faces showing their eagerness to jump forward and protect their friend. Arthur felt like breaking free of the ropes and leaping on Ragen, but the spell kept him in place.

"That's for my son," Ragen said, clearly speaking of the younger boy, who'd began to whimper where Borg was treating him on the ground. "And there's more where that came from."

Arthur paled involuntarily. His son. This was getting personal, and with the lot of them dispatched, and Merlin bound at the feet of his captors…

Ragen rose to his feet once again, looking at the knights each in turn. He paused when his eyes met Arthur's.

"Sire," He spat, and his expression was murderous.

"Let go of him, you scum," Gwaine called, and Arthur, who's been busy staring at Ragen's raging face, instantly turned back to Merlin (who had managed to get back to his knees and glare threateningly at the men surrounding him) as one of the bandits came toward him, and pulled a flask from his inner pocket.

"What is that?" Arthur demanded, watching as Merlin's eyes focused on the flask, and as his face, already pale from the hit he's endured, whitened further. He tried to back away, but the man with the flask pushed him down powerfully. "Merlin, don't you dare drink it."

Obediently, Merlin clutched his jaw. He gazed fixated at the bottle, as if he knew just what was inside.

Ragen's face twitched into another chilling broken smile, and he nodded at another one of his men, a massive giant, with bulging muscles and a small head. The latter grinned, glanced at the shaking boy on the floor, as if to give himself a reason, and then came toward Merlin leisurely, pulled him up with one hand and held him before him, before punching him with his earth shattering fist, right in the stomach.

Merlin groaned, the air knocked out of him, and fell forward in a daze. Arthur started to feel his arms shift beneath him once again. The others seemed to be experiencing the same thing, and Gwaine, ever the idiot, staggered forward pathetically, trying to get to their injured friend.

The man next to him pulled him back immediately, strengthening his binds, and Gwaine hissed in pain.

"If any one of you makes a step forward, I'm cutting this one to tiny little pieces," Ragen threatened, and Merlin moaned on the ground. "I need to get him alive. Not much better."

Arthur quit fidgeting. His heart beat powerfully in his chest. This wasn't good. Actually, it was downright bad.

"Now, drink it," Ragen commanded, speaking to Merlin, who was once again pulled to a crouch. Merlin looked at the opened flask in front of him, mouth closed shut.

They all jerked forward as the giant kicked him, this time at the back. Merlin let out a cry of pain as he tumbled to the floor for the third time. But he was on his knees in moments, the flask offered again.

"We can keep doing this all day," Ragen said, and Arthur knew that they could. Whatever was in the flask, it wouldn't kill him. The giant's strokes, on the other hand…

"No?" Ragen asked, as Merlin bit his lips against the bottle placed near his mouth. "Alrighty then."

Arthur flinched away. He heard his servant groan and Gwaine swore loudly. When he looked up, Merlin was limp and his eyes were unfocused. One of the men pulled him to a sitting position again, and kept him there, since he didn't sit up on his own.

"Well?"

There was silence. Arthur looked over at the other knights, suddenly able to move his head. The spell was fading already. Not very powerful sorcerers, then. The other knights looked back, and their faces were haunted.

"Very well," Ragen said, and the giant grinned. He lifted his fist.

"Just drink it," Arthur managed, through gritted teeth. Merlin's unfocused gaze landed on him and he looked at him in confusion. "Merlin. Now. That's an order."

Merlin swallowed. He looked at the flask, brow frowned. But when the man brought it to his lips again, he swallowed.

The first sip awarded no response. But in moments Merlin's rigid, tense muscles grew lax, and his face became grey. Arthur looked over at the others in concern, as their friend sagged where he sat, losing all life force.

"What is that? What's happening to him?" Lancelot demanded, shifting in his ropes. Merlin stared at the ground, as if too tired to lift his head.

"Go on now," Ragen said. "All of it."

Now he did raise his head, but not to Ragen. He looked over at Arthur.

_Don't make me_, his eyes begged.

"What are you waiting for?" Ragen demanded. As if on cue, his injured son let out a cry of anguish, and began to shake once more.

The giant did not need prodding. His boots hit Merlin's stomach before any of them managed to so much as protest.

"Come now," Ragen reprimanded half heartedly. "Plenty time for that later."

Arthur froze at the words. They couldn't let them take Merlin. They couldn't. He was so helpless and couldn't protect himself. He was not a knight. He wouldn't even be this far away from the city if it weren't for Arthur…

"Now, drink it," Ragen demanded again, and Merlin looked over at Arthur who looked back, equally powerless. Merlin swallowed, and shut his jaw close. He looked down at the ground determinedly.

"Oh, for the love of-" Ragen started, clearly running out of patience. He moved forward, pulled the flask out of the hands of the man holding Merlin, and took hold of the injured servant, pressing at the sides of his jaw and forcing them open. He shoved the flask into his mouth and Merlin fought against the two's hold, while the rest of the knights watched in horror. When Ragen landed another blow at Merlin's head and he slumped in a daze, his eyes unfocused, Arthur felt himself speaking before he could stop himself.

"Merlin- just- please!"

Merlin's blue eyes found his, and he looked at him morbidly.

He breathed deeply, closed his eyes, and took gulps from the flask, growing greyer and greyer as the bottle emptied. Arthur sat stock still in place, and not just because of the spell. He had never felt quite so helpless in his life.

When it was all done Merlin fell to the ground again, exhaustion and pain corrupting his normally joyous face. Arthur felt his stomach flip, as the rest of the knights watched, both Gwiane and Lancelot at the edge of their ropes, held back only by the swords of their captors and Ragen's earlier threats.

This wasn't good.

They wouldn't win this battle.

"Fantastic," Ragen said, getting back to his feet. He glanced again at his son, and his face was stony. "I guess we'll be on our way, then. How's Atick?" He asked Borg and Jera, who were treating the younger boy. Borg picked the small one up easily.

"We could use a horse," He said, gesturing for the horses that were tied to the far trees.

"Take your pick," Ragen said. As the others were busy securing their injured onto Gwaine's brown mare, Ragen leaned down next to Merlin.

Merlin's arms were tied behind him. Ragen untied the ropes bounding his feet, and retied them into a loop, placing it over Merlin's sagging head.

It was a leash. If Merlin was even close to coherent now, he would have been furious and humiliated, and would have fought against such a demeaning prospect. Instead he raised his head weakly, tracing the other end of the rope, held tightly in Ragen's fist.

"On your feet," Ragen said, and Merlin obeyed silently, swaying where he stood. Ragen connected the other end of the rope to the horse's saddle, and gave one of the man charge of it.

He looked back at the captive knights.

"Well. Can't say it's been a pleasure," He said, and Gwaine spat at him. Ragen did not smile. He did not seem capable of it. "My deepest apologies for what will happen next. Can't have you following us for the next few hours, can we?"

Arthur frowned, trying to understand what the man meant. Merlin stood unsteadily behind the horse. He looked like he'd fall over any second. His head was bleeding and he was standing wrong, leaning into the wounds on his abdomen. He looked at Arthur, and he didn't look like Merlin at all.

"We'll get you," Arthur called, and a flash of something passed through Merlin's eyes. "I promise, alright? We'll get you from wherever it is."

This was the last thing he said before the bandit's scabbard pounded powerfully at the back of his head, and he lost consciousness.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Merlin would later be able to vaguely recall being led away through the forest, a tightening rope around his throat. But considering the fact that he could also vividly remember being followed by a flying spider which shot gold spider webs at his ankles, his account should hardly be considered liable.

What he did remember was the smell of the flask that has been forced into his mouth, the scorching taste of the potion within. The feeling of panic and doom that enfolded him when all of a sudden, he seemed to have lost himself.

No, not himself. His magic.

He couldn't find it.

But it wasn't gone. It didn't feel like it was gone. Merlin felt the rope tag at his neck and he stumbled forward, dimly aware that if he fell, he won't be able to use his arms to block his fall. What it felt was like… as if it was…

Because if it were gone, he'd know about it. He shuddered at the thought. If it was _gone _gone, he knew that so would he. Be gone, that is. Or at least very close to it.

But it was as if he couldn't reach it. As if it was very very far away.

He couldn't recall a time when he felt like this. Hollow and empty, but still somehow calm, at the same time. He could faintly feel his magic at the edges of his mind, tagging lightly at his consciousness. It _wasn't_ gone. And he was certain that it would return.

But the shock of having it locked away from him…

Another pull at the… the leash, and he stumbled forward again. He heard someone mutter something darkly. Eyes unfocused, he raised his head to look around for the first time in a while. Everything was grey and colorless. There were no smells and the sounds sounded different. His mind echoed with Arthur's last words.

_We'll get you. I promise, alright? We'll get you from wherever it is._

Get him. Merlin felt a stab of annoyance pierce through his confused haze. He hardly ever needed anyone to _get_ him. He was an all powerful sorcerer. He could bloody well _get_ himself.

But he wasn't very sorcerer-like now.

He jerked as a flash of fear passed through him. A grunt was heard from in front, and someone barked something in his direction. Thoughts whirled around in his head, messy and disorganized. Arthur and the others were out cold. He was powerless and wounded, tied by a leash to a group of bandits with strange magic in a forest that was quickly growing less and less familiar. And they were selling him to some witch. He didn't know how he could get out of this.

"Stop!" Someone said. Merlin felt the leash go slack around his throat and willed his feet to stop. He blinked. Everything moved slowly, and it seemed that he could only manage to see glimpses of things. He saw the woman, Jera, jumping off a horse and pulling a large bundle after her. It was the boy. The one Elyan cut. Merlin swayed unsteadily. He couldn't seem to keep his thoughts in line.

He blinked, and suddenly Ragen was next to her, and they were both looking down at the smaller figure, laying motionless on the ground. At least he wasn't shaking anymore. Merlin swallowed. The smell of blood drifted in his direction. Oh, good. He could smell again.

He felt a sharp pain to his legs, and then he was on the ground, tasting dirt. He blinked stupidly at the ground, when someone's foot obscured his vision.

Then there was red. Loads of red. The pain followed slowly, trickling into his consciousness. His face. Damn it, his _face._ His nose burned and his eyes stung and he could hear himself panting. He blinked rapidly until some of the red was gone- blood? His blood?- only to see the foot again, this time noticing that it was a boot, and that it was very large and could probably crush his skull underneath it- when another pain, much more profound, came from behind him. He let out a groan and closed his eyes. More pain. Someone pulled him up, their fingers digging into his skin, and he felt their feet and fists as they landed on his stomach, his back, his legs and torso. He opened his eyes weakly, mind streaming with spells that would have these… these _people_ thrown against the trees, unconscious in seconds. He was on the ground again, and right in front of him was the boy, the boy that Elyan cut. The woman sat above him, and her face was red and her eyes were puffy. Merlin felt another kick, another blow, another stroke. He stared at the boy. He looked like he was fifteen. And he was dead.

He felt a terrible pain at the back of his head, and then moisture.

Then the red turned to black.

**So... did you like it? Did you dispise it? Do you think it should be sent to the garbage, or win a literary award? I'd like to know! R****eview! :-)**


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